Something's Got a Hold On Me
by heyasass
Summary: AU, Faberry. Upon realising she can't spend another minute in Lima, Ohio, Rachel Berry flees to Los Angeles with dreams of becoming a singer and a dancer. She stumbles upon a burlesque club and is immediately infatuated with the bright lights, the costumes and to her surprise, one very sexy bartender.
1. Los Angeles, Los Angeles

**Hey guys! Okay, so this is the first Glee fic I've actually been obsessed with writing so hopefully it'll last. Wish me luck and enjoy :) **

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_Something's Got a Hold On Me_

_Chapter 1: Los Angeles, Los Angeles_

Rachel Berry wiped yet another wayward bead of sweat off her forehead and grimaced, clearing a tray full of empty glasses and bowls from a table. She clattered her way into the kitchen and April, her sole co-worker for the day, looked at her as if she were a bomb waiting to explode. In some ways, she felt like she was.

"You okay?" the older blonde woman raised one well-manicured eyebrow in confusion at the young girl's uncharacteristically sour attitude. Rachel dumped the dishes on the counter and threw off her apron.

"I'm done," she exhaled loudly, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Finished."

April smirked at her sudden exclamation, "for today, chicken. You still got tomorrow, and the next day, until you make your way outta this hell hole."

"That's just it, April," Rachel explained giddily, taking over the money-counting and splitting their tips evenly. She handed sixteen-fifty to April and looked her excitedly in the eye. "I'm leaving today. I'm moving to Los Angeles."

The blonde woman didn't miss a beat, and brought Rachel in for a tight hug. "Baby girl," she murmured into her thick dark hair. "I'm gonna miss you around here, you know," April said, her thick Southern voice verging on breaking.

"I'll miss you too," Rachel replied sincerely as she leaned back from the hug. The tiny blonde woman she'd worked with since her junior year in high school had been like a mother to her, despite the fact that she had her own daughter. They spent every Christmas together, and Rachel would earn extra money by looking after eleven-year-old Linley when April had to take on extra shifts. April was the only family she had left in Lima, and they weren't even biologically related.

April looked down at the tips in front of her and pushed them across the counter to Rachel. "Take it," she insisted, turning away as a sign that she wouldn't take no for an answer. "Joe!" she yelled into the expanse of the diner, swiftly changing the subject. Rachel bit her lip and took the money reluctantly just as Joe, the owner of the diner, walked into the room sleazily.

"What?" he demanded, looking over at the two women expectantly. He wore the same seedy grin he did every time he laid eyes on someone of the opposite sex; the grin that made Rachel feel physically sick.

April looked directly at Joe and slammed her hand against the table forcefully. "Rachel needs her money. This month and last month." Joe just leered and shook his head.

"No can do, blondie. If she wants to quit, by all means, but don't expect no money outta me."

Rachel stepped forward, "stop speaking about me like I'm not in the room, for one," she put her hands on her hips, "and secondly, you _owe _me that money. I deserve it."

"And as I said, you're not getting it," Joe turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving an upset Rachel and an enraged April in his wake.

"Ugh," Rachel hauled herself up onto the bar counter and tried to hold back a second bout of tears. "I've worked here for seven years and it's taken me this long to realise how big a prick that guy is?" She jumped down, suddenly overcome by anger and a new idea, and rummaged through the cash drawer. Finally, she pulled out enough to cover both her and April's pay for that month. "Take it," she offered with a small smile. "Joe'll probably try to kill me, but hey, he'll have to find me first."

April smiled a little at her sudden change in attitude. "Take mine as well," she pushed the money into her hand. Rachel's eyes widened at all the crisp bills and she tried to force them back to April, with no such luck. "Think of it as a going away present. And a way for me to compensate for the fact that I'll hardly see you anymore."

"Thank you," Rachel smiled and hugged April again. "Now, I gotta go," she stuffed the money in her bag and walked toward the door, "otherwise I'll miss my train. I'll miss you, April."

"You too, kiddo," she waved, her long, pink fake nails clicking together. "Get outta here!"

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A few hours later and Rachel strode through the train station to the ticket office. She was wearing her favourite outfit, a high waisted skirt and a little sweater, and she was dragging her worn luggage across the floor. "One to Los Angeles, please," she said sunnily, excited simply by hearing the words leave her mouth. It was really happening.

The man at the counter pursed his lips, "return or one way?"

Rachel tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and raised an eyebrow at the guy. "Do I look like the kinda girl who'd ever wanna leave Los Angeles?" she questioned. Although she meant it in a joking sense, she couldn't help be a little bit aggravated. It was like everyone who lived in Lima thought staying there was such a great idea; like there was nowhere else outside of America's biggest shithole. Putting her frustrations aside, she grabbed the ticket with a winning smile, handed over the cash and practically skipped toward the terminal with luggage in hand. This was it.

What felt like many hours later, Rachel awoke from a restless sleep as the train quickly came to a halt. She opened her eyes and looked out the window eagerly, where she was greeted by a brilliant sunset that poured gold over the buildings slowly coming into focus. It was a breathtaking and beautiful moment, not only in a physical sense but because of the elation that was overwhelming her. It felt like she was coming home to a place she'd never even been before.

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**Hey again! So obviously this is based on _Burlesque _so imagine a lot of the same events with a slight Faberry twist. Pretty much there'll be a lot of stuff about Rachel's ambition, blah blah and then a cute friendship that will evolve later on. I originally wrote this right after the movie came out as a Quick (back when I used to ship them) story and then abandoned it, until the other day when I watched the movie, and the idea just came to me! So it's all been rewritten and I hope y'all like it! :) Please read and review! PS. If you need a heads up about which character corresponds with a character in the movie please just ask in a review/PM.**


	2. Show Me How You Burlesque

AU, Faberry. Upon realising she can't spend another minute in Lima, Ohio, Rachel Berry flees to Los Angeles with dreams of becoming a singer and a dancer. She stumbles upon a burlesque club and is immediately infatuated with the bright lights, the costumes and to her surprise, one very sexy bartender.

**Author's Note: **At times I'm going to use the original dialogue from the movie just because it's so damn good. The conversation between Rachel (Ali) and the ticket guy Alexis has been kept pretty much word for word because I liked it so much, but apart from that it's all my writing. I'd say in the future a lot of Santana/Kurt (Tess/Sean) interaction will be the same as in the movie because their banter is gold, but I'll make sure to warn y'all.

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_Something's Got a Hold On Me_

_Chapter 2: Show Me How You Burlesque_

It was her first day in the City of Angels, and Rachel Berry was already at her wit's end. That morning, after a blissful sleep complete with amazing dreams full of bright lights, TV screens and recording contracts, she'd pulled out the local rag and highlighted what felt like a thousand possible jobs. Eight hours and many miles on foot later and Rachel had realised the only thing she was qualified for was singing the jingle for a cereal commercial, and even then there had been twenty more experienced girls all ready to beat her out. The streets were getting dark and as a small town girl, Rachel found herself looking around worriedly whilst trying to mentally make her way back to the motel she was staying at. She walked a couple of blocks in one direction before she was brought to a halt by the excited laughter of three beautiful girls in skimpy outfits. They were hanging over a balcony, one smoking a cigarette, but the place Rachel suddenly felt herself drawn to didn't look like a regular sleazy LA haunt. The lights were big and pink, and the girls sexy but not slutty. Enticed by the Etta James and Marilyn Monroe blaring from inside, she slowly walked towards the entrance and then, with a leap of faith, inside. She explored the halls where she found there were all sorts of inhabitants – couples necking, people mingling – before she reached the real show. The club stretched out before her eyes, with dark corners just waiting to be explored. Most of the tables were full, and all eyes were on the stage. Suddenly the lights brightened on stage and dimmed everywhere else, signalling the beginning of the show. Rachel watched with wide eyes as eight beautiful, nautically-attired girls came into focus, beginning what she knew from experience would be a very complex but appealing dance routine. She heard someone clear their throat close to her and she blinked, looking around. Sitting at the lavish front desk was a small man with thick, black eyeliner and mascara and a jaunty bowler hat. He smirked at her, judging silently, and waggled his fingers in greeting.

"We may not have windows," he drawled slowly and enticingly, looking directly away from her and toward the stage, "but we do have the best view on Sunset Strip." He gestured to the women on stage, their hips swinging in time with the baroque era music. "Twenty bucks," he held out his hand with a devilish grin.

"What is this place?" she asked curiously. "A strip club?"

"'Strip club'," the guy looked appalled, and shook his head as if her question was unforgivable. "Honey, I should wash your mouth out with Jägermeister," he chided. "The only Pole you'll find in there is Natasha, the shot girl." Rachel bit her lip at this, confusedly, and averted her eyes back to the stage. They were in unison now, the eight of them, and their dancing was impeccable. She was jealous to say the least, but still intrigued. She couldn't help but imagine herself right in the middle of that stage, commanding the attention of the jam-packed club.

"Babycakes," the ticket guy interrupted her burlesque fantasy by tapping his fingernails, "I got a club to fill here."

Rachel looked down at her wallet and rummaged around for a twenty, "right, sorry," she apologised and cradled the crisp bill. It seemed like her stash was getting lower and lower now that she thought about it, and it had only been one day in the big city. Breathing in, she made the decision to enter the place and reluctantly parted with her cash. The eyeliner guy's face lit up with a grin, "enjoy."

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Rachel's eyes flitted across the room, taking in everything from the beautifully lit stage to the five-piece accompaniment band to the contortionists sitting in a corner, nursing cigarettes with their legs wrapped dangerously around their heads. She finally landed on the bar, with its dark wood panelling and shelves upon shelves of liquor. There were at least five men in bowler hats and vests serving customers their tequila shots and pitchers of sangria, all bare-armed and undoubtedly sexy. Rachel made her way over and stood there coolly, smoothing down her dress nervously, just as a statuesque woman with long, dark hair and a sailor's hat began to sing in a sultry, deep voice. She was wonderful, Rachel noticed admiringly, and sank down onto a stool to watch the rest of the performance. There were no words to describe it, and minutes later when it had ended she felt her hands tire from all the clapping she was doing. This was it, she thought to herself, this was what she was born to do. Parched from all the excitement, she spun around and snapped out of her haze, clearing her throat to command some attention from one of the smoking hot servicemen. When she looked up, however, she was face to face with what was definitely the body of a woman. She was tall and skinny as all hell, but her boobs were pushed up and staring Rachel in the face. Averting her eyes in embarrassment, she made eye contact and took in the girl's face. She had short blonde hair and her full red lips were pursed expectantly.

"Let me guess," the woman raised an eyebrow, smirking all of a sudden. "You were expecting one of the hot, _male _pieces of ass behind the bar. Sorry to disappoint."

"Uh," Rachel stuttered, trying to adequately formulate a reply. "No, I'm sorry," she finally managed.

"I'm just messing with you," the blonde grinned and Rachel caught the twinkle in her hazel eyes. The brunette sighed audibly in relief and relaxed noticeably in her seat. "Anyway, I'm Quinn," she introduced herself.

"Rachel," she smiled back at her in reply. "God, this place is so great," she breathed, taking in the entire room once again. It was overwhelming.

Quinn chuckled and wiped an unidentifiable cocktail spill off the counter. "You're new here, aren't you. Where you from? Hang on," she held up a black-painted finger, "Iowa."

"Close," Rachel couldn't help but laugh at how predictable she must seem. She was the epitome of a small town girl, with her conservative outfit and pink glossed lips. Everyone else in the room was edgy as all hell. "Lima, Ohio," she tried to stifle the inherent groan that came with telling people her hometown.

"Hey, nothing wrong with small towns," Quinn shook her head. She pulled out a paper coaster and stuck it in front of Rachel. "I grew up in Kentucky, but as soon as I turned eighteen I left and swore to never go back. Now, what would you like?" she gestured to the empty space in front of Rachel.

"A shot of Patron and the prospect of employment here sometime in the near future, please."

Quinn bit her lip apologetically, "I can do the vodka on the house. The job, not as much, unless you want to replace that lazy bitch over there," she gestured to girl with pink hair making out with a guy in the corner, "then it's all yours."

"I just want to be out there," she sighed, looking out to the stage where one girl was sexily dancing to _Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend_. She was stunning; Rachel couldn't seem to avert her eyes no matter how hard she tried. She wanted to be up there on that stage. "Whose ass do I have to kiss for that?"

Quinn gave the girl a once over, assessing her to make sure she could handle being thrown in the deep end. Most people that came in here looking for a career in burlesque dancing she just went away, but sending her to Santana could work. "See that door there?" she pointed to a red door over in the corner, by the edge of the bar. "Go through that and up the stairs. Talk to Santana about it."

"Got it," Rachel nodded and grinned. She impulsively grabbed the bottle of Patron from behind the bar and poured herself another shot, downing it in seconds. Quinn shook her head bemusedly at the courageous country girl and watched her begin to walk away, swinging her hips back and forth as if she were just asking for people to lust over her. "Wish me luck!" Rachel turned around on her way to the door and called out.

"Tell her I sent you!" Quinn replied. "And good luck!"

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Rachel walked up the stairs, trying to control her shaking nervousness in favour of exuding confidence and sex appeal instead. It was kinda difficult when you were wearing knee-highs, she thought to herself. When she reached the top of the stairs, the noise hit her before even the image of the room did. It was loud and bustling, with what looked like twenty girls of different ages and ethnicities milling around in their costumes or, in some cases, half-naked. They all had one thing in common though – they were the kind of beautiful that reeled people in, the kind that made you want to stare forever.

"With the way you're staring you'd think you'd never seen a burlesque dancer before," someone commented from next to her. Rachel snapped out of her daze, the one that had been brought on by the bright lights and the makeup and the glamour, and whipped around to come face to face with a forty-something guy with brown hair. On second glance, Rachel noticed that he was wearing a fur coat and what looked mysteriously like lip gloss. "I-I haven't," she admitted honestly.

"Oh my God," he exclaimed in surprise. "That's just criminal, honey," he continued to comment.

Rachel laughed nervously. "Um," she collected herself and focused on the task at hand once again. Internally, she willed her confidence back. "I was looking for Santana?"

"Oh, that old hag," he giggled jokingly. "Santana, dear!" He looked around trying to spot her. "My name's Kurt, by the way," the guy introduced himself, plucking a stray hair off his coat and looking at Rachel with sparkling eyes.

"Rachel," she replied, her anxiety almost bubbling over. "I was wondering if I could talk to Santana about getting a job here."

Kurt chuckled before realising, and quickly covered up his expression. Noticing Rachel's confusion he felt the need to explain. "Santana's a tough woman to impress, you know," he shrugged, "and if I'm correct in guessing you're fresh off the boat from Kentucky or Ohio or wherever, you've probably never met anyone like her. Keep your wits about you, Louisiana."

As he spoke, a tall, majestic-looking Latina woman emerged from the throng of half-naked dancers. She brushed past one of the girls to where Rachel was standing and immediately placed her hands on her hips. "You rang?" she pursed her lips at Kurt, and then the girl in front of her.

"Hey, honey," Kurt smiled winningly as if he were buttering her up before they got to the crux of the matter. Santana reciprocated the grin and kissed him chastely on the lips. Rachel blinked and tried to contain her confusion; she'd thought the guy was obviously gay.

"Who's this?" Santana gestured offhandedly at Rachel who was standing expectantly before her. "Are you sure you're in the right place there, sweetie," the Latina woman looked at her condescendingly, sizing her up and immediately casting her aside.

"My name is Rachel Berry," she replied confidently, moving her hands to her hips in what she hoped was defiant yet still humble. "And I want to work for you. I've danced all my life and I know I could be great for you up on that stage."

"It's cute how sure of yourself you are," Santana scoffed and tossed her thick, dark hair behind her shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you this, cupcake, but I couldn't give you a spot even if I wanted to. Our quota's full."

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut briefly and tried not to be deterred. This was important, she thought to herself before she vowed to try harder. "If you'd only just give me a chance," she began. Kurt looked at her with pity in his eyes and put a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Honeybun, there's just no room for you or anyone else. We have hundreds of girls lining up at our doors wanting the same thing you do – fame and a chance. But we can't just give one to you like that," he snapped his fingers for effect. Suddenly, a skinny and beautiful blonde stalked into the room wearing oversized sunglasses and a fur coat. She shoved right past Rachel and sat down in front of a mirror with no explanation or apology. Rachel watched as Santana and Kurt's attention quickly snapped from the pitiful young country girl in front of them to the diva now yelling orders for a vodka tonic and a tray of tequila shots.

"Kitty," Santana exhaled furiously and hauled herself up onto the counter by the mirror, her arms folded. "We're already three songs in and you smell like fucking _bourbon_." Kurt shook his head and left the room in a hurry, throwing his hands up in the air out of clear annoyance at the situation Santana was now addressing. Kitty lowered her glasses and glared at Santana.

"And why do you care?" she asked nastily. She looked around furtively at the other girls and yelled out once again for someone to 'get her some fucking liquor.' Rachel's eyes widened in fear when Kitty pointed at her with a sadistic smile and beckoned, "you," she said mock-sweetly. "Get me a vodka tonic, now."

Santana raised an eyebrow, "she's not a waitress," she pointed out with a small smirk. Kitty's face didn't falter; "then she isn't busy," she shrugged and began applying her makeup. She waved Rachel away with her hand and the brunette begrudgingly left the room with the same amount of job prospects she'd had twenty minutes ago: none. She walked slowly down the stairs and toward the bar.

* * *

"So?" Quinn asked expectantly, "Santana in raging bitch mode tonight?" she asked with a grin, readjusting the bowler hat she wore over her short blonde hair.

"You could say that," Rachel sighed. "They said they'll let me know if there's ever an opening. Oh, and that Kitty girl acted like I was a waitress or something. She's fucking mean if I ever saw it," she spat bitterly.

"Well, I thought of ways we could rectify your unemployment situation, if you're interested," Quinn waggled her eyebrows at the sullen brunette slumped over the bar. Rachel suddenly perked up.

"How?" she asked in surprise. Right now she felt like anything, any little odd job or paid favour, would help her maintain the one thing going for her – her new postcode in the heart of Los Angeles itself.

"Well," Quinn scrunched up her face, "I'm not sure you're gonna like this, but if you really want, you can waitress. That bitch Angie over there is pissing me off," she gestured flippantly to an Asian girl casually talking to a group of young guys, holding someone's untouched drink on a tray in her hand. "She's been there for the past three minutes and no matter how many times I _fucking yell at her_," Quinn raised her voice so that she could be heard by the ignorant Angie, who rolled her eyes, "she won't deliver these poor people their drinks. You up for replacing her?"

"Yes," Rachel nodded with wide eyes, leaving not even a second between Quinn's proposition and her eager answer. A job was a job, and being around the dancers and Santana and Kurt all night long would only help them to remember her face. Maybe waitressing would help get her an actual performing job at the club.

"Wow," Quinn laughed amusedly, "okay then, you're hired. You start," she looked at her watch, "right now. Take a tray and wait for me to make these drinks. Then you can do the rounds."

Rachel grinned excitedly and had to stop herself from jumping up and down on the spot. "Yes ma'am!"

Quinn raised an eyebrow at this and smirked, "don't ever fucking call me ma'am again."

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**Aieeee hello. Hope y'all liked, please please please review because they keep me writing. **


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